There’s naked ambition, of course, and egotism, and narcissism. A need for attention second only to a Kardashian’s. The need for control of a hoarder who tries to jam-pack his house tighter than Charles Foster Kane’s Xanadu. Maybe even a smidgen of idealism: “Ask not what you can do” and all that. There may also be a deep desire to be insulted, ridiculed, and libeled, too, but since my degree isn’t in Abnormal Psych, I’ll leave that to real experts like Dr. Phil and Maury.

Then again, someone who is in the public eye; who is questioned about everything he does, says, and thinks on a daily basis by self-appointed experts and laypersons alike; and who is roundly vilified for what he does or doesn’t do – think of the late unlamented Josh Beckett here – may also be just plain stupid. What we mistake as dedication to principles, willfulness, inner drive, and competitive fire are more likely those common companions of egomania: unawareness, insensitivity, sluggardliness, and obstinacy.

In Beckett’s case it was really no harm done. He was paid cartloads of cash to throw a little ball past guys waving bats, and his ability and/or desire to do so had vanished months before he took his act to L.A. He’s a ballplayer, not a research scientist, a pediatrician, or even the treasurer of his bowling league.

Which brings us to the guy who wants to replace the current President, whose opinions make Beckett look like Abe Lincoln.

He’s trying to sell himself to the American people as the person who can save failing economies, right ships of state, show those furriners who’s in charge, and put an SUV in every car elevator, but he won’t tell us how he’s going to do it.

Just stop asking questions and put him in charge. At least he was born here.

And his party will be happy to prevent millions of our fellow citizens from voting to see that he gets in. (Shades of Frank Capra’s 1941 gem, Meet John Doe, which becomes frighteningly less melodramatic and more like a documentary every day. Watch it: you’ll swear that the film’s villain, media czar D.B. Norton, has been fruitful and multiplied.)

You wonder if Mitt the Magnate would have hired Mitt the Candidate, the one who’s been skating through his job interview on empty answers. “I’ll tell you how I’ll fix the economy, but only after you hire me” doesn’t cut it. Pulling into his best fetal position when asked about his plans to close tax loopholes, Mitt told Time magazine that the Democrats “would love to have me specify one or two so they could amass the special interest to fight that effort.”

Poor unfinanced Mitt. Please put a penny in the old man’s cup.

Granted, political campaigns are a mire of hyperbole, bloviation, and platitudes, but could we get a few specifics, please? And with a bit less of that annoyed “You mean I have to speak to the help?” glare he flashes whenever he’s asked something that he doesn’t want to hear.

If you think I’m going to compare Mitt with designated pinata Josh Beckett by calling him stupid, guess again. Cynical, yes; stupid, no. Mitt’s happy to endure criticism if it means that he can free his fellow plutocrats from the half of America he and his advisors regard with such contempt.

But how stupid does he think we are?

By now you’ve heard of the private fund-raiser at which Romney said of the 47 percent of Americans who rely on the government in some way: “[They] believe that they are victims… that the government has a responsibility to care for them… that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it… And the government should give it to them.”

That’s a group that includes disabled vets, college kids, retired workers, the previously uninsurable, your neighbors, my friends, your friends, us. We’re not looking for handouts, Mitt. We’re not looking for tax breaks or offshore accounts, or a mansion in every time zone, Mitt, and we’re certainly not looking for a President who holds a perfumed hanky to his nose when we walk by.

I’d like to think the outrage his moment of truth generated hit him where he lives, but who knows where that would be?

Oh, that was a political statement, not a character evaluation. Ri-i-i-ight. Lots of us have seen what Shakespeare called “the red glow of scorn and proud disdain” when we waited tables or pumped gas or mowed lawns. Lots of us still do. Maybe Mitt’s 15 minutes of honesty in an otherwise hypocritical campaign won’t set the tumbrils rolling, but it may yet prove to be his undoing.

Politics is like hardball, they say, but so much more is at stake. Josh Beckett may be a conceited ignoramus, but he has no influence over our lives. He can regard us with disdain all he wants and it won’t matter.

But Mitt Romney’s disdain – cynical, palpable, un-American – is despicable, poisonous, and fraught with danger for all of us.